Page 166 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

Juliette did the right thing. She did the right thing, and I still pushed her away without even contemplating that there was a reasonable explanation. I caved to my own insecurities, to my intrinsic beliefs that I would never be enough for anyone, and used it as an excuse to withdraw, to pull away from something raw and frightening and beautiful. Something that was far more important than Drakos North America will ever be: the woman I loved. The woman I wanted a future with.

I’d already known I’d made a mistake. But seeing the evidence in front of me, the confirmation that she had made the right call while I regressed into old habits, kills me.

“You’re not the only man who’s suffered a setback with a woman.”

I glance up. I’d almost forgotten Michail was still there.

“If we’re going to start talking about relationships over a glass of wine, you know where the door is.”

He rips off his sunglasses. There’s still that smoldering anger I saw back in Alessandra’s office. But in those all-too-familiar pale blue eyes, I see something else. Uncertainty. Frustration. And above all, apprehension.

“You’re not an idiot, baby brother.” He grins as I bristle. “Don’t let someone like her get away.”

With those parting words of wisdom, he leaves. As much as I wanted to pitch him into the pool while he was here, I prefer his company to the silence.

I’ve known for days now that I spoke too harshly to Juliette. That she didn’t walk out of my life; I all but pushed her out with my fears and doubts. I should have walked away, given myself time to calm down, then go back and talk to her. Yes, I was hurt. But love doesn’t mean never getting hurt or being hurt by loved ones. What I’ve realized, perhaps too late, is that loving someone includes being willing to forgive, to focusing on and trusting who they are at their core, even in the moments when they mess up.

And I do love her. I love her so much, the thought of never seeing her again, of never seeing her face light up, of hearing her voice or seeking her out at the end of a long day, nearly kills me. The thought of never building a family together, of never knowing the magic of all the things I’ve denied myself over the years, fills me with an even deeper fear, one that threatens to choke me.

No.I have fought for what I wanted for years. I’m not going to give up now. I’m going to make mistakes. Chances are high I will hurt Juliette again. But I love her. I love her and I will never stop trying to be the man I want to be, the man she deserves.

I make several phone calls. Then I start packing. Tomorrow, I will tell my wife how I feel and pray that I haven’t broken her heart so much she’s incapable of returning my love.

Juliette

I stare out over the ocean. It’s the end of the day. The workmen have left.

But Grey House is coming to life once more.

The house itself has been maintained. I might curse Lucifer Drakos for many things. But his care of Grey House is not one of them.

When I first stepped foot inside, it hurt. The refinished floors. The repaired walls. All things my father had dreamed about doing. Lucifer took that away from him, too. But, especially in light of what had happened in France, it was also one less thing I had to pay for.

I shove thoughts of my husband away. There’s no need to spend time or energy thinking about something that’s lost to me. Instead, I need to be thinking about the future. Things like the plans Gavriil’s sister-in-law Tessa emailed over for making the house more welcoming for Dessie. We’ve talked a lot the past week, ever since I emailed her asking her opinion on making Grey House accessible for Dessie and the possibilities that come with her multiple sclerosis. I’d forgotten that she had started her own interior design firm with a focus on accessibility.

But once I’d arrived back in the States, I’d recalled our brief conversation at the wedding reception. I’d desperately needed something else to focus on. Remodeling Grey House had been an immediate solution, one that brought both Dessie and me joy. Collaborating with Tessa, someone who understood the difficulties of traditional home construction for those with mobility challenges, had given me something else to focus on.

I hadn’t expected Tessa to come up with the plans so quickly. I fell in love with them, as did Dessie. Tessa truly has a talent, combining her inner knowledge of the accessible touches needed to make a house a home for someone with mobility challenges with a sense of style.

There will be about two-thirds of the money left after the project is completed. Some of that has already been earmarked for a donation to Catherine and her facility for renovation and expansion. The rest will go into a high-yield savings account that will give Dessie and me enough to live off of as I work on rebuilding my career.

I circle my arms around my knees and stare out over the ocean. It will be enough. I will make it enough.

But every now and then, and moments like these when I’m alone with nothing but my thoughts and regrets, I can still hear Gavriil’s voice from that day in the cemetery.

And you, Juliette? What do you want?

I want to turn back time. I want to go back to the penthouse in Paris and tell him about my suspicions about Louis Paul. I want to go back to that little French village where we had wine and cheese, tell him about Paul then before we went back to the boat and tumbled into bed.

It had been the perfect opportunity. To tell him my lingering fear as I confessed one of my darkest moments. But it had slipped by me until it was too late.

I miss him. On more than one night, I’ve reached out for him, only to have my fingers grasp cool sheets. It doesn’t matter, though, how much I want him. He doesn’t trust me. Can’t trust me. I can’t blame him for the conclusions he jumped to. For the hurt I caused.

I lie back in the grass and close my eyes. When he’d looked at me with betrayal haunting his face, I felt like someone had grabbed my lungs and squeezed all the air out. It wasn’t just that I’d hurt him. It was that I had realized in that moment how deeply I loved him. How much I’d been hoping that our time together might result in him feeling the same way.

But instead of trusting him, I’d given life to my doubts. Let them rule when I’d chosen not to tell him my suspicions. I knew how much Drakos North America meant to him, knew better still after everything he had shared. Yet I hadn’t given him critical information that could have affected the most important thing in his life.

My heart twists at that memory. The moment when he confirmed that, despite his hidden depths, his company would always be the only thing in his life he allowed himself to care about.

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